


Cartography

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, Dominance, Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Mirror Universe, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Ritual Public Sex, Submission, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snippets of Pavel's new life on the Empire's flagship, in which Kirk occasionally notices him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ~

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: ...It's kind of like Khan/Chekov, but not. :P
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

James T. Kirk is, by far, the most feared captain in the Empire, and, by extension, the most respected. He comes out of every battle with hardly a scratch on him, and he always leaves a trail of blood behind. There’s never any hesitation in his voice, and others fall to their knees at the snap of his fingers. He’s gorgeous and he’s terrible, everything in one.

For the first two months Pavel is on the Enterprise, he lives only in constant fear. He isn’t strong like the rest of the ensigns around him. One week in, he sees Lieutenant Sulu run a fold-out sword through a man in Engineering, and he’s unable to sleep for the next three days. He falls asleep at his post as a result and spends four hours in an agonizer, until he’s sure he’s going to go mad. He’s extra diligent after that. Every time he feels the captain’s eyes slide over the back of his neck, he shivers. 

The Captain only speaks to him by way of clipped, barked orders, rarely even with his name attached—just ‘ensign.’ For the first two months, Pavel’s content to keep it that way.

* * *

On the first day of his third month, he’s sitting in the mess hall. He’s picking at his salad at a small table in the corner, alone and away from anyone. Pavel tries not to make too many friends, because on the Enterprise, friends lead to phaser wounds. He sits with Sulu sometimes, but he’s always careful not to get too close—sometimes Sulu’s eyes linger on him too long. Many of his peers are like that. Pavel’s young, but he isn’t _that_ young. He knows his weakness makes him an easy target, and he isn’t surprised that his medical examination this morning involved him losing all of his clothes and being impaled on several cold instruments. It still hurts to sit down, but _hurting_ is part of the Enterprise.

He knew that when he applied for this posting, and he doesn’t regret it now; the _stars_ are worth it all.

He only looks up when a shadow falls directly over him, ice already in his gut. His eyes go very wide when he sees who it is, and he almost drops his fork. 

Sulu always asks to sit, even though ‘no’ obviously isn’t an acceptable answer. Captain Kirk doesn’t bother. He slides Pavel’s tray over and helps himself to the other chair. His meal is much larger than Pavel’s, including a full steak, fries, and a drink. He carves himself a red chunk and grumbles, “This synthesizer food is shit, don’t you think, Ensign?”

“Yes, keptain,” Pavel says immediately, because he’d never even dream of disagreeing with a superior officer. Kirk nods and shoves the large piece into his mouth, chewing messily. 

This is a very, very surreal moment. Pavel’s stomach grumbles its protest at his still fork, but he can’t bring himself to eat. He’s busy being shocked. The captain’s sitting with _him._ Pavel shrinks back in his chair, his eyes mindlessly roaming the vision before him. 

There are many reasons Kirk is captain. For example, he’s very difficult to kill. From what Pavel understands, he’s very intelligent, and he certainly looks very strong. He’s confident and brutal. His sexual prowess is something of a legend. Pavel can see why. Kirk’s more handsome than any man has a right to be, and it’s hard not to watch the way his teeth tear through his meat, his lips opening and closing as he chews. His blond hair is messed from who knows what, and his sleeveless uniform shows off his biceps. Halfway through his plate, Kirk reaches over and skewers a piece of Pavel’s salad. Pavel doesn’t protest.

“Any particular reason you’re eating like a rabbit, Chekov?”

Pavel shivers at the use of his name. He doesn’t have an answer other than he genuinely likes salads, so he simply says, “Sorry, sir.”

Kirk smirks, going back to his own plate. He uses his fingers to go through his fries. “Trying to keep a good shape for someone?” When Pavel blushes furiously and shakes his head, Kirk adds, “How old are you, Ensign?”

“Eighteen, sir.” His voice is unsteady. 

Kirk arches an eyebrow. “Young.” Even though he’s the youngest captain in a long time. Pavel read all his records, of course, and he did indeed get through Starfleet Academy in record time. “What’re your areas?”

That’s a very general question. Pavel hesitates to say, “Nawigation and adwanced theoretical physics, keptain.” His job and what he studied. Kirk nods, still eating his steak, like he isn’t even paying attention. Pavel still feels like he’s being strung up and interrogated, and he’s sure any wrong answers will earn him time in an agonizer. Assuming he isn’t punished by Kirk’s own hand, of course. Pavel bites his lower lip, trying not to think about that. The idea of having Kirk’s hands on his body... isn’t nearly so horrible as it should be.

Kirk stops eating again. He stares at Pavel’s lips, and Pavel, feeling self-conscious, stops chewing the bottom one. Without looking away, Kirk asks, “What accent is that?”

“Russian, sir.”

“Say ‘vodka.’”

Cheeks red, Pavel says, “Wodka, sir,” then corrects, “Sorry, sorry—wod... _v_ odka...” It’s incredibly embarrassing, and Pavel’s whole face is hot. Kirk chuckles at him, and while Pavel doesn’t normally enjoy being made fun of, he’s oddly glad to have made Kirk smile. It reaches his eyes, impossibly blue. They suck Pavel in, so Pavel forces himself to look down at his salad. 

He finds a fry under his nose. Kirk orders, “Eat it.” Pavel obediently lifts his hand towards it, but Kirk says, “With just your mouth.” Pavel drops his hand back into his lap, blushing up to his ears. 

He leans forward over the table, though Kirk pulls the fry a few centimeters back, and Pavel has to lean over further, tilting his head back. He opens his mouth and catches it in his teeth, lips brushing the captain’s fingers. He waits for Kirk to let go, but that doesn’t happen. 

So Pavel does his best not to look around at all the inevitable spectators. He closes his eyes and takes a bite, chewing and swallowing as discretely as possible before moving up the fry and taking more into his mouth. It’s a little too salty and doesn’t have any ketchup on it. Pavel gets it down in small bites, until his lips are right against Kirk’s fingers, and when he’s done, he gives in and licks the remaining salt off them. 

Then he settles back in his chair, feeling bizarrely wanton, even though he’s a virgin and he didn’t mean to do anything. Kirk reaches over and grabs his chin, tilting his face up and locking their eyes. “What’s your full name, Chekov?”

“Pavel Andreievich, sir.”

Kirk opens his mouth, probably to ask another question, but he’s cut off by Commander Spock’s arrival at the side of their table. As usual, Kirk drops everything for his first officer, pushing away his tray and standing up, already discussing orders. Pavel goes back to trying to be invisible, until Kirk turns around and orders, “Finish my plate, Ensign.”

Pavel says, “Yes, keptain,” immediately, even though he isn’t hungry, and there’s a lot of steak left. He’ll gladly take stuffing himself and throwing up over an agonizer, or, even worse, the wrath of his captain. 

Kirk stays to watch him eat the first bite before leaving.

* * *

He’s on the captain’s radar. He wasn’t before. Men who used to pin him to walls or hiss warnings in his ear now ignore him completely, and even Sulu has stopped subtly suggesting they return to his quarters together. Pavel doesn’t feel that different, really, other than his new inability to look away whenever the captain’s in the room. Now that he’s really stopped to look at just how attractive Kirk is, he can’t _un_ -see it.

He finds himself daydreaming, often, of a world in which things were different. Where something could possibly happen between them, something where there was no Empire. Where they’re two regular people in a calm universe, in which one stray move wouldn’t put Pavel in an early grave. 

Unfortunately, he lives in this universe, where he witnesses Ensign Johnsen being dragged off to an agonizer after failing to laugh at the captain’s joke. Pavel laughs with everyone else, of course, and he sets the course Kirk tells him to, while Sulu takes them out of the port. 

Pavel keeps his eyes ahead when he’s on the bridge, but his ears are listening. He hears the footsteps trailing towards him, and then Kirk’s at his side, leaning over his shoulder to examine his console. Pavel’s eyes flutter closed. Captain Kirk smells very distinct: masculine and intoxicating. He wanders back to his chair without a word, leaving Pavel chewing his lower lip and struggling to concentrate on star charts. 

When Kirk inevitably grows bored and saunters off the bridge, Pavel isn’t the only one to watch him go, all hard muscles and too-tight clothes. Pavel knows he’s not the only ensign that croons after their leader, but that doesn’t make him croon any less. 

He looks back at his console and pretends he’s in a cold shower.


	2. ~

He’s taken on an away mission _with_ the captain. He’s ecstatic. Commander Spock, Lieutenant Uhura, Dr. McCoy, Sulu, and Lieutenant Commander Scott—Or Scotty, as he makes them all call him—all come, too. Before they go down, Pavel is put through a particularly strenuous physical, in which Dr. McCoy strips him down, feels him all over, and makes him blow on a tube. He’s finally given medical clearance, and then he’s in the shuttle, listening to Sulu and Lieutenant Uhura discuss Romulan blades. Kirk and Spock bicker like a married couple, until Dr. McCoy sides with the captain. Pavel sits in silence and wonders how in the world he made his way into this crew. 

He’s _honoured_ , but he feels young and inexperienced. It isn’t something that actually happens often; book smarts have taken him a surprisingly long way. But they don’t make him any more _comfortable_ with the crew. He’s the only one of them that isn’t wearing a weapon. His Empire emblem feels conspicuous on his chest, and he wonders vaguely how this will go.

When the shuttle lands, he sticks close to the captain. The planet is a modern one, though very unpleasant. The air is thick with smog, the buildings are mostly dilapidated, and the crowd that bustles before them looks just as unwelcoming as the Enterprise’s red shirts. Kirk leads them down the dirt-beaten road to a warehouse in the back, wondering loudly, “What do you think, Bones? Should we spend the night on the planet?”

“Captain,” Spock immediately interjects, “It would be unwise to—”

“The rooms at the inn down the street from here come with Orion slave girls,” Dr. McCoy answers. “Stayed here last year, myself.”

Kirk looks over his shoulder, calling, “Uhura, book us six rooms.”

Uhura nods and immediately walks off, while Scotty hollers over the general din around them, “You’re the best, Captain!”

“I don’t want anyone to say I don’t treat my supporters well,” Kirk laughs. “After squashing Henrich’s treachery, you deserve it.”

Pavel blinks—he didn’t know of any treachery. Seeing his confusion, Sulu steps closer and mutters to him, “He tried to take command by assassinating the captain.”

“What happened to him?” Pavel asks, even though he knows.

“Dead. So are his followers. I caught a few, but I’ll admit Scotty and Uhura helped quite a bit.” And the Doctor and Spock always go everywhere with the captain, so that isn’t much surprise. ...But Pavel isn’t in that core group, and he didn’t even know of any assassination plans, let alone help thwart them. 

On top of that, the captain ordered six rooms. And there’re seven of them. Pavel blanches. The doors of the warehouse are wide open, and as Pavel follows his group into the dingy metallic entrance, dimly-lit and foul-smelling, his insides twist with worry.

* * *

Pavel doesn’t say a single word throughout the entire warehouse ordeal. Kirk makes several shady deals with an alien trader, even offering a few ensigns as slaves. Kirk seems to have a predetermined list of which of his crewmembers are disposable, and for a moment, Pavel’s sure that’s why he was brought down. But when the alien eyes him, Kirk says sternly, “That one isn’t for sale.” The alien nods, and the bargaining continues. 

It’s dark by the time they leave, though the streets are just as busy. The crowd is made up of all sorts, but Pavel mostly keeps his head down. He half expects them to get stabbed in the streets, but then, he also isn’t surprised when that doesn’t happen. The Empire is a fearsome force, and everyone knows that. 

Pavel knows that. He doesn’t want them to reach the hotel, but they inevitably do. It’s worn-down and ugly looking, with oddly arched doors and no windows. The ceiling lights are shaped in strange patterns Pavel doesn’t recognize. The receptionist’s language is garbled through the translator, but Uhura handles most of the dealings, and they get by. The amount of rooms isn’t discussed until they reach the second level of the hotel, although they don’t need to. Pavel’s sure he’s the odd one out. 

He’s right. Kirk passes out keys to everyone but him. The others all trickle away to their own rooms, while Pavel’s left in the hallway, trembling in front of Kirk, who’s casually tossing the last room keys in the air and catching them. 

Then Kirk grabs him by the hair and tugs him violently into the room at the end of the hall. Pavel doesn’t fight for a number of reasons.

* * *

The hotel room is much like the city. Dark and unpleasant, with oddly angular furniture and no niceties. The walls are metallic, and there’re only two rooms: a bathroom and a bedroom. Pavel sits on the floor while Kirk’s off in the shower. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to sit on any of the furniture, so he doesn’t. He’s still sure he’s about to be sold to an Orion slave trader or beaten senseless. The fact that Kirk threw the awaiting Orion slave girl out is not at all comforting. Now there won’t be any witnesses. 

As soon as Pavel hears the water shut off, he tenses up. He’s sitting by the end of the bed, leaning against it, facing the washroom, mostly because he’s sure Kirk will summon him after. And if not, he needs instruction, anyway. Waiting is killing him. 

Sometimes he honestly wonders why he joined a starship in the first place. He isn’t cut out for the Empire. Yes, the stars are beautiful, and they’ve always called to him, he’s always wanted to be around them, but is it really _worth_ it? Half the time he’s too busy hiding to notice the stars. There are no windows in this room, and that’s very unsettling. 

The door to the washroom flies open, and Kirk storms out. He’s got an oddly-textured green towel wrapped around his waist, and the rest of him is gloriously naked. The water’s still beaded in stray places along his skin, glistening in the strange ceiling light. Pavel can see every one of his well-defined muscles, all his smooth skin, every subtle curve and sharp angle. His blond hair is dark with moisture, slicked against his attractive face. His blue eyes flicker down to Pavel. He’s an Adonis. 

Pavel’s breath is caught in his throat. For a split second, he forgets to be afraid; he’s so busy staring and being _turned on._ He brings his legs together to try and hide it, mouth hanging open. Then Kirk practically purrs, “What’re you doing on the floor, Chekov?”

Pavel swallows a lump in his throat. “I... I did not hawe permission to sit on zhe bed, keptain...” There are no chairs or couches in the room.

Kirk smirks. He steps closer and reaches down to pet Pavel’s chin, saying, “Good boy.” Pavel savours the touch; the captain’s fingers are a little damp, but firm. Soothing and warm. He’s sad when they pull away. 

Kirk walks around the bed, tossing the towel to the floor in the process. Pavel watches it fall as though in slow motion. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed to look, even though he’d desperately like to see _all_ of Kirk’s body, so he keeps his head stubbornly fixed forward. He’s breathing unsteadily. 

“You won’t be having a shower,” Kirk says casually, and Pavel can hear him lying down across the bed. “Do you know why, Ensign?”

“No, sir.” Pavel gulps. 

Chuckling darkly, Kirk hisses, “Because I want you dirty.”

Pavel bites his lip to stop any noises from coming out. He suppresses the shiver that threatens to run down his spine. Kirk barks, “Stand up and turn around.”

Pavel obeys so fast that he almost falls over. When he turns, he latches his arms to his side, intending to stare at the far wall over Kirk’s head. Instead, he’s drawn down like a moth to a flame, raking over Kirk’s relaxed body, down his hard abs, down his six-pack, right to the dip of his stomach. His cock, large and full, is already arching upwards at a forty-five degree angle. It’s both thick and long, pink and veined, with a heavy set of balls beneath it and a matt of blond hair above it. Pavel finds himself ogling it, mouth starting to water. He doesn’t see a lot of dicks in real life, so close. He’s been pretty good at avoiding it up to this point. If others looked as good as this one, he wouldn’t have bothered. 

“You like what you see, Ensign?” Kirk drawls, spreading his strong legs a little wider. His cock twitches, and Pavel has the sudden, inexplicable urge to feel it in his mouth. 

He just barely manages to shake himself out of it, mumbling, “Y-yes, keptain!” He tries to stand at attention properly. Eyes back up. ...They just fall back down. 

Kirk doesn’t seem to mind. He laughs again, while Pavel’s cheeks turn very red. “Strip.” When Pavel’s eyes widen, Kirk insists, “You heard me. Do it. And make it good; I kicked out an Orion slave for you.”

Pavel doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Zhank you, keptain.” Then he lifts his hands awkwardly, not sure what to do with them. He’s never stripped for someone else before. Especially not anyone as attractive as Kirk. Is there even anyone as attractive? Pavel’s fingers tremble as he pulls at the hem of his shirt. On a whim, he tries to move his hips while he tugs the material over his head, though he knows he doesn’t have much rhythm. Is he supposed to be dancing? That’s what’s done in movies and stories, isn’t it? Strip dance? How else is he supposed to ‘make it good’? Blushing and looking down at the floor, Pavel rocks his hips to an imaginary beat, swaying and pulling off his black undershirt. Then he tries to squeeze his arms together to hide his lithe, pale chest, exponentially self-conscious of his exposed nipples and his thin waist. 

Kirk makes a degrading catcall and adds, “Pants too, Ensign. I want it _all_ off. I read your profile, and I know how smart you’re supposed to be, so don’t pretend you’re too stupid to know where this is going.”

“Keptain...” Pavel’s throat is dry. Fear and anticipation are short-circuiting his brain. He knows perfectly well that he has no idea what he’s doing. He’ll screw this up. Kirk will be angry. But to lose his virginity to Kirk, of all people... it’s going to hurt, he’s sure of that. But, oh... it’ll probably be so worth it... until afterwards when Kirk’s done with him, unless Kirk doesn’t even get all the way through, just decides halfway that he’s too terrible to continue... “I...”

Pavel doesn’t know what to say. He’s overwhelmed. So, in the end, he doesn’t say anything. He shimmies out of his pants, fingers playing with the hem of his boxers, feeling more and more cornered. He hesitates to pull them down. He doesn’t want to. He licks his lips. Is this it? No foreplay, no nothing? It’s all happening so fast. “Keptain... it’s just...”

He looks up nervously, to where Kirk is now frowning at him. Pavel gulps and hurries to say, “Sorry, sorry, sir, I don’t mean to misbehave, I do want to please you, of course! Sorry, I will... I will just take zhese off...” Because his fingers are trembling so badly, it takes an inordinate amount of time to get the thin fabric down his thighs. He pushes them right down his legs, until he’s standing in a pile of clothes, which he steps out of, immediately covering himself up after with his hands. He’s considerably smaller than the captain. But he’s still a little hard. He shouldn’t be. Kirk must see that. 

Kirk’s still frowning. Pavel chews on his lip while he waits for a reaction. 

“How many times have you had sex, Ensign?”

Pavel gulps. “N... none, sir. But... but I will do my wery best to please you.” He tries to look very determined while he says it, instead of clumsy and unsure like he feels. (A part of him would like to try, anyway. Kirk’s too hot to walk away from.) Kirk snorts. For a minute, Pavel’s positive Kirk is going to send him away. Or just kill him; deem him useless, and that’s that. Perhaps, worse, leave him on the planet to be trained. 

Then Kirk grumbles and pushes up in bed. He climbs over to the edge of it, sitting down like he sits in his captain’s chair: lazy and regal all at once. His legs are spread, showing off his large cock, resting heavily against his stomach. He reaches out and grabs Pavel’s wrist, jerking him down suddenly. 

Stumbling to his knees, Pavel lets the captain arrange him. Knees open, head leaning forward, hands on Kirk’s thighs— _hands on Kirk’s thighs_. Kirk puts them there himself, and Pavel holds them, warm and hard. Alive and soft. It puts his face right in front of Kirk’s cock. It looks massive this close up: much too big to fit in his mouth. He isn’t stupid. He knows what’s happening. 

“Tell me what you think of your captain’s cock, Chekov,” Kirk drawls carelessly.

Pavel doesn’t need to lie. He practically moans, “It is _magnificent_ , sir,” and he means it.

“Perhaps I should take pity on you, since this is your first experience with a real man. Or would you like to suck my cock?”

Pavel licks his lips. Of _course_ he’s scared. Wants to run. And he thinks he was just subtly given the option to leave. But then... but then he wouldn’t get to taste... “I would...” Pavel swallows too audibly. “I would like to suck your cock, keptain.”

Kirk puts one hand on Pavel’s head, raking through his light curls. “Good boy.” He makes a fist, jerking Pavel forward a few centimeters. Pavel does the rest. He isn’t sure what exactly to do, but he follows his instincts. He licks his lips and presses them against the shaft, kissing it. 

Kirk moans appreciatively. Pavel takes that as a good sign and does it again, kissing down the base. His tongue slips through his lips and he licks the shaft, just lightly at first. Then harder, flattening his tongue along the outline of veins and drawing it up. It smells fresh from the shower, but still raw and musky. Pavel licks his way around it, nuzzling into it and getting it against his face, a bit of precum drizzling onto his forehead. He tries to ignore that. He licks at the captain’s balls, then sucks them into his mouth, one at a time, careful of his teeth. He chances a look up at his captain through his lashes. 

Kirk’s smirking broadly at him. “You’re pretty good for a virgin,” Kirk snickers. He bucks his cock lightly into Pavel’s face for emphasis. Pavel’s got his mouth too full to say anything. 

When he’s done playing with Kirk’s balls, Pavel goes back to kissing and licking the shaft, this time up to the head. Kirk taps the back of one of his hands, and Pavel starts, lifting it up to Kirk’s balls. He cups them gently and rolls them around while he laps at the slit, tasting all the salty precum. Partly, he’s just buying time. There’s no way he’ll fit it all. 

But he has to try. And he knows it. Kirk bucks into him again, then growls warningly, “Chekov...”

Pavel mumbles against it, “Sorry, sorry.” He parts his lips as wide as they’ll go, trying to figure out how to do this without scraping it with his teeth. (It’s absolutely crucial that he do this well.)

At first, he just pops the head into his mouth. As soon as it’s in, he hears the captain have a sharp intake of breath above him, and Pavel releases his breath, earning a small groan. Then he sucks experimentally, getting used to the feel. It’s a strange texture. Oddly _human_ , and it fills him up and keeps his jaw stretched. It’s pulsing a little. It tastes mostly bland: strange, but not unpleasant. Pavel works his mouth around it while he tries to force himself a little lower, one centimeter at a time. Worshipping it properly.

After a minute or two, Kirk gets impatient and shoves him down. Pavel gags but takes it, trying hard to adjust. His eyes close and tears prickle at them, and he chokes around it, throat constricting. It’s difficult to breathe. Kirk alternates between laughing and moaning. Pavel tries to concentrate on the moans, and the more he does, the more it gets easier—the thought that he’s making _Captain Kirk_ moan is wonderful. It makes him proud, and it makes him harden. He doesn’t dare reach down and touch himself, so he puts all that extra energy into pleasuring Kirk. He sucks hard and measures how the captain reacts, trying to oblige properly. 

“Use your tongue,” Kirk growls, and Pavel starts doing that, too, rubbing the underside. Kirk’s still holding him by the hair and uses that grip to pull him off, only to push him back down again. Kirk repeats a few times until Pavel catches on, bobbing up and down on it, impaling himself properly. Kirk’s hips buck into him once or twice, each time making him almost choke, and Kirk moans, “Yeaaah, suck my dick, ensign...”

Pavel hums around his mouthful, which is his way of saying, ‘with pleasure.’ He can’t get all the way down unfortunately, even with it hitting the back of his throat, but he does his best. Kirk starts jerking him more and more frantically, until Pavel’s lax in his captain’s grip, content to just suck and be used. 

Then the captain pulls out and _roars_ , suddenly and loudly, splattering Pavel’s face with hot cum. Pavel just barely has time to cover his eyes before it’s spilling over him. Kirk doesn’t stop, either. He comes and comes, more than Pavel ever does, and it gets all over him: his cheeks, his nose, his lashes, his lips. A large glob catches in his open mouth and dribbles down his chin, and Pavel happily closes his mouth and swallows it, gulping down his captain’s load. 

When he’s done and panting, Kirk shoves his cock into Pavel’s lips again, and Pavel licks it all clean. He doesn’t dare clean his own face off though. He sits back, and he waits for orders, hoping to hell those orders will involve him touching himself. He’s already breathing hard, cheeks very red, and he can’t really open his eyes, because they’ve got cum on them. His lips feel swollen. He tilts his head up pleadingly. 

Kirk says, “You can wipe yourself off,” sounding satiated and proud. The bed rustles, probably climbing back onto it, and Pavel starts to scrub at his face with his arms. “And then you’ll sleep on the floor, so I’m not tempted. ...But naked, in case I want a look.”

Stunned, Pavel says, “Yes, sir.” On the floor? To resist temptation? Pavel has the immediate, horrible feeling that he’s done something wrong. James T. Kirk is not a man of mercy, and for him to spare Pavel just because he’s a virgin doesn’t make any sense. 

And now, Pavel isn’t so sure he wants to be spared. 

In fact, he’s almost positive he wants to be speared by his captain’s thick cock, and he opens his mouth, intent on saying as much. 

Then he thinks better and closes it. He shouldn’t question his captain’s orders. If he’s not wanted, he’s not wanted. 

So he curls up in the pile of his clothes, feeling sweaty and debauched but mostly a heady mix of good and hopeless.

* * *

The morning is an awkward affair. Spock comes in to wake the captain, and Pavel simply cowers in the corner, still dirty and naked. Then Spock leaves, Kirk dresses him, and Pavel’s pulled out by his wrist like the Orions the other crewmembers got. There’re a few more underhanded dealings, in which Pavel is very sure he’ll be traded, but somehow isn’t. He’s mostly miserable. He can’t stop ogling his handsome captain, and he doesn’t get anything back, and now he knows for a fact that Kirk doesn’t want him. 

When they get back in the shuttle, Kirk tells Pavel to sit in Scotty’s lap, and the rest of the crew laugh at him. Scotty holds onto him on the way back up to the Enterprise, which isn’t at all regulation. He can feel Scotty’s package rubbing into his ass, and all he can think is that he wishes it were _Kirk’s_ package. ...And then he starts to think about how deplorable he is, and he feels ashamed. 

When they get back to the ship, everyone heads their separate ways. In the turbolift, Kirk dismisses him, and Pavel slinks back to his quarters. 

He likes the Enterprise better than the planet they were on, even if it is full of agonizers and cages. 

He securely locks his quarters and falls face-first on the bed. For a minute, he just lies there.

Then he climbs up the bed, slips under the covers, and touches himself, thinking only of his captain and what could’ve been.


	3. ~

Pavel spends some time shadowing Scotty, learning about the inner workings of the Enterprise, not quite an apprentice, but it’s always good to have new skills. They say knowledge is power. Pavel doesn’t have any other form of power, so he learns what he can. 

Engineering is a tricky place to be. It’s full of all sorts of workers, particularly caked in red shirts and security, the sort of men that could crush Pavel in one blow. Fortunately, it’s also a maze of pillars and pipes, and Pavel’s good at weaving through them. He avoids most of the men who look too long, but he has to follow Scotty, who gets drunk too often and forgets what they’re here for. 

At one point, Scotty flattens Pavel into a wall by the warp core, his breath reeking of alcohol, his hands too... everywhere. “I think the captain’s done with you,” Scotty mumbles, grinding his crotch into Pavel’s, which isn’t nearly as tented. “That means you’re back on the market, Ensign...”

Pavel just closes his eyes and wishes he were elsewhere. Scotty sloppily kisses the side of Pavel’s face. His hands grab at Pavel’s ass, making him gasp. 

The captain’s done with him. That part hurts the most. He doesn’t want to be pinned under _Scotty_ , even though Scotty is a brilliant man... when he’s sober. 

“Is this what passes for training, nowadays?” a calm voice interjects. Pavel blinks his eyes back open, and Scotty looks over his shoulder at Spock, who lifts an eyebrow. “We are nearing an asteroid field—Mr. Chekov’s presence is required on the bridge.”

Pavel squeezes out from under Scotty, and Scotty has to let him go. Disgruntled, Scotty calls, “You’ll be back for more training tomorrow?”

Pavel says, “Yes, sir,” because he still wants to learn. 

In the turbolift, he muses over how Dr. McCoy is always calling Spock a pointy-eared devil. Pavel thinks an angel would be more accurate. Spock delivers Pavel safely back to the bridge, where he belongs, at the lowered console beneath his captain.

* * *

Pavel’s in the corner, again, watching Sulu eat udon with chopsticks. He got a pair for Pavel, and Pavel occasionally tries to fish one of the noodles out of the broth, but they’re slippery and difficult to hold onto. “It takes practice,” Sulu says, but Pavel thinks he might just not be cut out for udon. 

Pavel returns to his salad, and the doors to the mess hall open. The captain strolls in, discussing something quietly with Spock. They approach the food synthesizer and put in their chips, and Pavel watches them over Sulu’s shoulder. 

Sulu turns around in his seat. It feels like they’re collectively holding their breath to see if the captain comes over, but he doesn’t so much as look at them. He goes back out the way he came, the sliding doors swallowing up the view.

Sulu turns back around. Under the table, his hand shifts to Pavel’s knee. Pavel stops eating abruptly and looks up at his friend—the only person aboard he considers a _friend_ , and he doesn’t want to, but he forces a smile. Better Sulu than someone else; he has to be smart. It comes out as a sort of wince. Sulu chuckles but retracts his hand and keeps eating. 

Back on the market. 

Pavel fakes an intense stomach pain and excuses himself.

* * *

This isn’t any good. He’s a starship officer, not a schoolgirl with a crush. In the Empire, one can’t afford to be as distracted as Pavel is. He should strategically pick someone new, someone as high-up as he can get. He tries to keep it together. 

They’ve approached the new planet, one Kirk’s clearly been sending encoded messages to. They’re an incredibly advanced culture, one that the Empire probably couldn’t conquer if it tried, so they need to be made allies. They don’t seem that interested in wars or politics. They are, however, fascinated with xenobiology, and Dr. McCoy is waiting on the bridge with a PADD full of species they’ve encountered, ready to share whatever’s necessary. Pavel doesn’t know _what_ exactly they’re sharing, or what it’s in exchange for. But he doesn’t need to. He just takes care of the coordinates and keeps them safely in orbit. 

It’s several minutes before they’re properly hailed. Uhura puts them on screen, and a strange looking, tall man with stretched orange skin and cat-like eyes comes onto the view screen. He’s wearing long, white robes, sitting in a chair suspended from the ceiling in a small room full of monitors. He says in a clicking sort of voice, “You are aware of how it works, Captain Kirk?”

“Fully aware,” Kirk answers. Pavel chances a look over his shoulder. Kirk’s lounging casually in his chair, the same lazy way he always is, oozing confidence and sex appeal. “We’re happy to accommodate you. I trust you have the missiles we requested?”

Weapons. Of course. Isn’t that what all of their deals end up with? The man rotates his head strangely, perhaps his version of a nod. “They will be delivered upon completion of your display. You will come down with the two parties involved and a third person should one of the parties develop... performance anxiety.”

Smirking, Kirk insists, “That won’t be necessary.”

“It has happened in the past. Bring a spare,” the man says. “We’ve sent the coordinates for the arena; please beam there directly.”

Kirk nods, and the transmission closes. Then he stands up, patting down his shirt, and several bridge officers swivel their chairs slowly to look at him. 

He nods at Spock. “You’ll be my backup, I suppose.” Backup? Is it going to be dangerous? Arenas are never good.... Kirk looks directly at Pavel and says, “Chekov, you’re with me.”

Pavel blanches instantly.

But Kirk and Spock are already headed for the turbolift, so Pavel has no choice but to scramble after them.

* * *

For an incredibly advanced species, the arena feels very... primitive. It’s a circle, several meters long in diameter, with glass walls and layered seats all around outside. It reminds Pavel vaguely of an operation room on Earth, in which doctors perform surgeries and medical students watch from above. There’s a raised, waist-high platform in the center, just a small rectangle. Pavel eyes it nervously, until Kirk picks him up by the waist and lifts him onto it. 

Then Pavel sits on it quietly, while his captain discusses their... ‘display’ with the alien. Spock stands against the far wall, stiffly watching the interaction. Outside, the stands slowly begin to fill with other strange-looking aliens, all watching Pavel intently. A few talk to each other, but Pavel can’t hear what they’re saying through the glass, and a couple even point at him. It makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable. 

About a minute later, the alien and Kirk come over to Pavel. The alien looks him up and down, asking, “This is your sacrifice?” Pavel’s blood instantly freezes, eyes widening. He looks wildly at his captain for reassurance, but Kirk’s blue eyes are hard. “And he is untouched?”

“He’s a virgin, yes,” Kirk drawls. The alien’s thin lips stretch into a smile, while Pavel tries to force himself not to tremble. Really, this is never how he thought it would end. He hopes it’s quick and isn’t painful. 

Walking slowly around the platform and sizing him up, the alien continues, “You have been informed how our terms are met. The weapons you seek will be rewarded to you after you have mated with your sacrifice...”

Mated? Pavel’s head abruptly snaps around, staring in shock at the alien, who notes, “You will not be forming young from this?”

“No,” Kirk answers, clearly trying to restrain a smirk. “That’s not how our species work. We do, however, often mate solely for pleasure.”

“Fascinating,” the alien mutters to himself. “Mating with no reproductive purpose... this will be very... educational.”

Kirk fails. The smirk stretches wide over his handsome face. “I’ll do my best to put on a good show.”

The alien nods. He mutters, “Good luck, Captain,” and he swiftly exits out an oval door in the side. Pavel watches him go, thunderstruck. 

He glances at Spock, as though to confirm this is real. But Spock only has eyes for Kirk. 

Kirk strolls casually up to Pavel, as though none of that was said, and he gently tugs Pavel’s wrist, pulling him off the platform. Pavel stumbles off. Kirk tugs him a few steps away from it, putting him in place. When Kirk lets go, Pavel lets his hands fall, both arms at his sides, feet together. He’s nervous as hell. He doesn’t fully understand what’s going on. Kirk walks around him, then walks up to him, until they’re toe to toe. Kirk’s taller. He casts a slight shadow over Pavel, and Pavel, completely intimidated, looks down. 

Kirk bends to whisper in his ear, “Do you want to be my virgin sacrifice, Ensign?”

Pavel scrunches his eyes closed and gulps. He doesn’t want to see any of their spectators. His throat’s dry, but he knows what to say—they same thing he always must say. This time, it isn’t at all a lie. His voice still comes out small and hoarse. “Yes, keptain.”

Chuckling, Kirk kisses the brim of his ear, mumbling into it, “Stop trembling.” Pavel tries but finds that he can’t. “I’m not going to hurt you... I’m just going to fuck your pretty brains out and let all of them watch...” Pavel makes a distressed, faint whimpering noise. Kirk lifts a hand to his cheek, and even if Pavel’s nervous as hell, he leans into the touch on instinct. 

Kirk’s hands are warm, and his soft skin is soothing. It shouldn’t be. 

Kirk pulls his hand back. He folds his arms behind his back, standing up straight, and Pavel watches him through lowered lashes, keeping his head down. Kirk takes a step and starts to walk around Pavel, slower this time. Stretching his arm out, he lets his fingers travel over Pavel’s body, tracing his thin waist, roaming over his side, his back, his other side, then his stomach. They trail up to Pavel’s face, tilting his chin up, and without having to be told, Pavel hopefully opens his mouth. 

He’s shamefully delighted when Kirk’s tongue stabs in, claiming him hard, tasting him possessively. Kirk’s arm wraps around his waist, and even though he’s terrified, Pavel tells himself not to think about it. He tries to pretend they’re back on the ship, safe in the captain’s quarters, and no one is watching them. He tries to tell himself that at least it’s only Spock. If it were Bones or Scotty, or perhaps even Sulu, they’d probably want to join in. Spock will likely just oversee things and keep him safe. 

When the captain pulls away, Pavel doesn’t want him to go. But Pavel also doesn’t want to be so terribly desperate in front of an audience, and he wants to be obedient for his captain. So he stays where he is, while Kirk runs skilled hands down his chest, pressing in just hard enough to make him gasp. Kirk gets to the bottom of his yellow shirt, thumbing the hem. His eyes flicker up to Pavel’s; Pavel holds his breath. 

This isn’t how Pavel thought he’d lose his virginity. Kirk suddenly rips his shirt over his head, and Pavel throws his arms up at the last second to help, chin getting stuck and hair messing up. Kirk puts a hand on his chest and jerks it away, tossing it carelessly over to Spock. Pavel doesn’t look to see what Spock does with it. Instead, he tries to cover his chest with his arms, but Kirk jerks them away, holding them at his side and barking, “Did I give you permission to move, Ensign?”

“No, sir!” Pavel instantly wails, far more pathetically than he’d like. His body goes rigid under the scrutiny, and out the corner of his eye, he can see several orange fingers pointing at him. He tries to focus on Kirk, who’s eyeing him hungrily, licking those perfect lips. He looks like an animal hunting prey. Pavel’s freezing of fear and burning with want all at once. Horrible, wonderful anticipation.

Kirk reaches out to caress his nipples, both at once, rubbing them gently, until Pavel’s gasping, and his nubs are hardening. Kirk presses his thumbs on them firmly, rolling them around. Then he gently pinches both of them, earning another groan, and then he starts to play with them, tugging them. Once they’re hard, he twists them slowly, and Pavel grimaces and grits his teeth, trying not to cry. 

This is... overwhelming. Kirk’s palms run all over his stomach and his chest and his sides, leaving tingling trails over Pavel’s pale skin. He wants to see Kirk’s bare chest, too. He’s been fantasizing about it ever since their last away mission, and he really, really wants to see it again...

But he doesn’t get to give orders. Kirk’s fingers trace around Pavel’s waistband, just barely reaching under the fabric. He leans in to kiss Pavel again: a distraction from all apprehension. Pavel’s so busy forcing his hands not to run all over his captain that he hardly notices his pants falling off him, pooling around his feet. That is, until Kirk’s hands are over his thighs, tugging at his boxers. Kirk breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against Pavel’s, hissing quietly, “From today onwards, you won’t wear any underwear.”

Pavel practically moans, “Yes, keptain.” His head’s getting foggy, but he thinks that’s a good sign. There will be more. He won’t die today. He’ll get... he’ll get touched by the captain again, or at least looked at...

Kirk purrs, “You’re such a good boy.” He thumbs Pavel’s chin and tilts it for another kiss, hot, wet, and all tongue. Pavel moans into it, and it takes everything he has not to start humping against Kirk. He doesn’t want Kirk to ever, ever stop kissing him. 

Kirk doesn’t stop to pull off Pavel’s boxers. He shoves them slowly down Pavel’s thighs and lets them fall. Pavel’s left standing in the middle of the arena completely naked, right next to his captain, fully clothed. And Spock’s still clothed, and so is the audience. His cheeks are bright red. Kirk grabs his ass suddenly and pulls him in, pressing his hard body into Pavel’s soft one, and Pavel’s skull bursts with pleasure. They won’t be able to see his front, at least. And he can _feel_ Kirk’s. He can feel Kirk’s hard cock through his pants, and Kirk’s hard chest through his shirt, and Kirk kneads the cheeks of Pavel’s ass and gently squeezes them. Kirk stops to pinch each cheek a few times, then slaps them, then slaps them both at once, making Pavel jump. Then he runs his fingers down Pavel’s crack, making Pavel gasp and arch. Kirk’s touches are too rough, a little painful. But so, _so_ good. Kirk knows exactly what he’s doing. He plays Pavel’s ass like a well-used instrument, and before long, all of Pavel’s resolve is gone: he’s uselessly humping his captain as desperately as Kirk makes him. 

Kirk pulls back again. Pavel whines loudly. A thin trail of saliva drapes between them in the air, snapping when Kirk walks around to Pavel’s back. Pavel forces himself to stay where he is. 

Kirk reaches a hand around him and grabs his cock, lifting it up. Pavel stiffens all over—the captain’s holding his _cock._ The captain turns it carefully, then lifts up his balls, caressing them tenderly before dropping them, but his cock lingers, a little hard from the sheer thought and feel of his captain _touching_ him. He feels like a prized horse on display. Being shown off. It’s disquieting. But in the same breath, knowing that the captain would want to show him off, of all people, makes him feel sort of... honoured. 

Two palms land flat on his shoulders. Pavel looks up at the dark ceiling, while Kirk’s hands run casually down his back, past his shoulder blades and over the curve of his spine, right to his ass, stopping to squeeze, then down his thighs and the back of his legs. He tries very hard to keep his breath steady. He’s losing control of his head—it’s thick with lust, and his lips are permanently parted—he needs the extra air. He feels wanton. Just for his captain. 

Kirk takes him by the wrist and leads him over to the platform. Pavel follows dazedly. Kirk gestures for him to get up, and Pavel hops up, but then Kirk is pushing his legs up too. He’s shoved onto all fours, knees spread, arms flat against the cold surface. It feels like it’s made out of stone, but it might also be a new type of metal—cold and foreign. Pavel shivers against it, feeling incredibly exposed. 

Now he’s a show dog. Kirk walks around the platform, examining him and feeling him, adjusting his position slightly and tilting his chin up. From the other side of the room, Spock is still watching, expressionless as always, holding a folded pile of Pavel’s clothes. Unexpectedly, Pavel’s ass cheeks are pulled apart and held open, and Kirk smacks them, musing allowed, “What a good ass you have, Pavel. Nice and young, Juicy and round. And you have such a pretty little hole, all pink and puckered. It looks tiny. I bet it’s very, very tight. That’s how I know you’ve been a good boy and haven’t let anyone else touch you...”

Pavel tries not to preen under the praise. He’s ashamed of how good it makes him feel. Then the captain spits on him, and Pavel winces, stubbornly refusing to look at any of the aliens outside the glass. They must think Kirk’s barbaric. In some ways, he is. But that’s part of his raw sex appeal, what makes him so alluring. The spit feels strange and slick on his ass, at the top of his crack, and it slips down gradually. Kirk’s fingers spread it over his hole, and he twitches under the strange treatment. He’s never even touched himself there before, and it’s incredibly odd and uncomfortable for anyone to be looking at it, let alone touching it. Let alone in front of a whole room of people...

“Arch your back for me,” Kirk orders. Pavel bites his lip and obeys, arching his shoulders up, his stomach lower, sticking out his ass. He’s blushing furiously, but it’s worth it when he hears Kirk chuckle approvingly, rewarding him with a slap on the ass. Pavel winces but takes it, trying to look _sexy_ for his captain. He can’t imagine he’s doing very well. He’s nothing compared to Kirk. How he got chosen for this, he has no idea. 

“Hard as a rock,” Kirk mumbles to himself. Then he calls across the room, “Sorry, Spock, I don’t think you’ll be participating.”

Spock doesn’t answer, but Pavel hangs his head, feeling cheap. Kirk’s fingers are still massaging his hole, and when the blunt tip of one pops inside, Pavel gasps. The intrusion is... incredibly odd. A little uncomfortable. It doesn’t feel right. But it’s _Kirk_ , and Pavel wouldn’t dare tell him to stop, wouldn’t want to. The finger presses in further and further, surprisingly gently, one millimeter at a time. Kirk pets his lower back and whispers, “Sh,” as though soothing a skittish horse that might kick.

All and all, it’s better treatment than Pavel expected. Kirk doesn’t strike him as the type to use preparation at all. Maybe it’s a show for the aliens. When they’re back on the Enterprise, without an audience and weapons on the table, Kirk will probably tear right into him, split him happily in two.

But that means he’ll be with Kirk, so it might be worth it.

The finger works its way slowly to the knuckle, and Pavel tries not to wince too much, tries to be brave. Kirk pistons it in and out a bit, then withdraws to force a second finger inside. It feels wet—probably more spit, maybe some pocketed lube. Pavel’s muscles clench instinctively, but Kirk purrs, “Relax. It’ll hurt less if you relax.”

Pavel breathes, “Yes, keptain.” And he _tries_ to relax his muscles, he really does, but it’s hard. 

Kirk scissors Pavel apart, rubbing his ass and making soothing noises. Pavel tries to behave for his captain, tries to make himself loose, tries to take the two fingers. He knows from experience that Kirk’s going to be a lot bigger. He couldn’t fit all the way in Pavel’s mouth, how is he going to fit all the way in Pavel’s ass? The thought makes him shiver. He can distantly feel yellow eyes on him, but it’s hard to pay attention with Kirk fingering his ass. He tries to lose himself in the feeling of it, even if it isn’t particularly pleasant. 

When Kirk withdraws his fingers, Pavel still whines. He feels suddenly empty, stretched wide. He hears footsteps, and then Kirk’s in front of him, pants unzipped and cock in his hand, full and magnificent. Pavel licks his lips on instinct. He’s raised too high on the platform, but looking at Kirk’s cock makes him... inexplicably hungry. 

Kirk grabs a chunk of his hair and presses him lower, so that Pavel has to lie down on the platform, flat on his stomach, eye level with the cock bobbing in front of him. Kirk’s still stroking it leisurely with his free hand; it’s completely hard. The platform’s cold against Pavel’s erect nipples, colder against his semi-hard cock. “Spread your legs over the edge of the platform,” Kirk orders, and Pavel scrambles to do so, toes just barely reaching the metallic floor below. “You will keep your hands at your sides, as though I’ve restrained them.” In a quiet voice, for just the two of them, Kirk adds, “Because later on, I probably will, pretty little thing like you, so eager... you need to be restrained, don’t you...” 

It isn’t really a question, so Pavel remains quiet. He can’t look away from the cock in front of him, so very close. Is this a chance to get it wet, perhaps? It would probably hurt going in dry. It’s nice of the captain to let him do this. ...It’s odd to think of Kirk doing anything nice.

Kirk thrusts his hips forward, so that his cock bumps into Pavel’s cheek. He barks, “Get it wet.” Pavel’s jaw instantly falls open. 

It isn’t like the first time. There isn’t room for foreplay, butterfly kisses or kittenish licks. It shoves right into his mouth, and Pavel has to will himself not to choke, though it’s hard. It doesn’t go all the way. But it goes in _so much_. It’s not fair that any one man should be so incredibly hot and have such a huge dick too. How is anyone supposed to resist? As uncomfortable as he is, Pavel finds himself savouring the taste and the smell of the huge cock resting heavily on his tongue. He tries to alternatively blow and suck on it, getting it as wet as he can. Kirk doesn’t move it. Pavel doesn’t bob up and down, because he wasn’t told to. This isn’t a blowjob; he’s just a lube deposit for his master. 

Kirk doesn’t pull out until he’s dripping with saliva. Then he orders, “Stick out your tongue,” and he taps his cock on Pavel’s tongue a few times. Pavel’s lips are wet and slick. He whimpers when Kirk pulls back and walks around him again. 

Kirk spreads his cheeks. Pavel still feels stretched, but not nearly enough to accommodate Kirk’s massive cock. He doesn’t dare squirm though. He just looks over his shoulder, while Kirk stretches Pavel’s hole with two fingers and lines himself up. The moist tip presses into Pavel’s entrance, applying pressure, pushing in. Pavel wills himself to take deep breaths and relax. It’s next to impossible. 

Kirk leans over his back, domineering and heavy, and hisses into his ear, “Thank you for the gift, Ensign Pavel Andreievich.” Pavel shivers, pleasure seizing him already. His captain’s _voice_ is so sexy, so powerful. What gift is he giving? The captain knows his full name. He wants Kirk so bad... “No matter who else has you from now on, you’ll always know that I was the one to take you first, that your virginity, your body, belongs to _me._ ” Kirk’s cock presses harder, it’s surely going to pop in— “Oh wait,” Kirk interrupts himself mockingly. “There won’t be anyone else, because from this day forward, you’ll be _mine_.” His cock stabs brutally inside, and Pavel’s back arches, and he _wails._

Kirk doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow. He surges forward like he owns every last millimeter, parting Pavel’s tight walls. Pavel clenches on instinct, he can’t help it, and it makes it hurt, and Kirk moans. Pavel whimpers and writhes beneath his captain, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s pinned down and impaled. Tears form at the corners of his eyes. He looks desperately over at Spock, but Spock’s looking over his head. 

Chuckling darkly, Kirk rubs his sides, purring, “Good boy... good boy, take your master’s cock...” He kisses the side of Pavel’s face, who’s fighting the urge to cry. Is it in all the way? He feels impossibly full. It’s impossibly far. It feels like it’s reaching his stomach, like it’ll burst him open. Kirk runs calloused fingers through his curls, asking, “How do you like my cock, Pavel?”

Pavel’s panting, struggling to stay conscious. His cheek’s resting against the platform, head turned. Eyes feeling a little glassy. He somehow manages, “I... love your cock... wery much... sir.”

“That’s right, you do,” Kirk laughs. He rocks his hips, and Pavel screams. Kirk’s hands are running up and down his waist and his hips, squeezing and probably leaving bruises. Pavel’s fists are tight at his sides. He scrunches his eyes closed. He doesn’t want the audience to see him cry. He should make the Empire proud, even like this, spread out and on display. He should make his captain proud. He’ll be a good boy, he tells himself. He still gasps as Kirk pulls out. 

Kirk slams back in, driving Pavel slightly up the platform, thighs hitting the cold stone. Kirk pulls out, pushes back in. He starts doing it over and over, faster and faster, just as harsh and hard every time, brutally plundering Pavel’s hole. He’s at a slightly different angle every time, until something clicks, something’s just right, Kirk hits something and Pavel _roars_. His head throws back, throat arched, and he shrieks in a sudden burst of pleasure, exploding all over him. Kirk starts stabbing into that same spot, again and again, making Pavel scream every time, until he’s hoarse and it feels like his nerve endings have blown. The pleasure drowns out the pain, and the two mingle and dance, short-circuiting his head. It’s perfect. So rapturous. Kirk’s a _god_ at sex, at everything. Pavel’s all his. 

Then Kirk stops suddenly, slipping out, and Pavel whines desperately, thrusting his ass back and begging to be filled again. His cock is hard between his stomach and the platform, but there wasn’t any time to hump it with Kirk controlling him so powerfully. Now he wiggles his ass pleadingly, and Kirk slaps it, laughing. 

“Who do you belong to, Ensign?”

“You,” Pavel moans ecstatically. “Yours, keptain, all yours.”

“Of course you are,” Kirk sighs, in a both sensual and patronizing sort of voice. He pats the side of Pavel’s ass and orders, “Turn around, lie on your back, hold your legs apart, and show me that pretty hole of yours.”

Pavel scrambles to obey. He almost slips off the platform in his haste. It feels even colder now, in contrast to his boiling skin, but now it’s a welcome relief. He’s on fire. He bends his knees back to his chest, arms bent and still at his shoulders, since he’s been ordered not to use them. He likes this position _much_ better. He can look up at Kirk, now shirtless, glistening with sweat in the clinical light, breathing heavy and looking feral as fuck. He looks like a horny animal about to devour something. Pavel’s on the menu. Pavel’s thighs are trembling, hole twitching, he wants Kirk inside him so bad it hurts. 

Kirk runs his hands once over Pavel’s body, over his pebbled nipples and his smooth stomach, back down his shallow hipbones and his spread thighs. Bright eyes dark with lust, Kirk hisses to himself, “ _All mine._ ” Pavel bites his lip to stifle his moan. He wants to be collared and leashed inside his captain’s quarters, meant for nothing else but waiting on and pleasing his master. He could wait every day with his ass in the air or his mouth open, on all fours, completely naked, sitting on the floor like the possession he is. There’s no thought to stellar sciences or theoretical physics—why’d he even bother with school? He’s coming undone, and he tries to convey that on his face, how utterly owned he already is, how much he’d like to be nothing more than his captain’s slave, his pet, his plaything. When Kirk’s eyes dart to Pavel’s, it looks like he knows. 

Then he grabs Pavel’s legs and throws them easily over his shoulders, lifting Pavel’s ass slightly off the platform. His cock rubs against Pavel’s wet, abused entrance. 

It stabs inside. Pavel buckles. 

He screams all over again, voice cracking, nails digging into his palms and body arching, head throwing back, eyes closed, mouth wide. Kirk finds the right spot without any trouble and continues fucking Pavel like he never stopped. Slamming in, in, in, rocking and grinding and pounding him into the platform, like a drill with only one purpose. Pavel tries to force his eyes open and look at his captain, drink it all in. Kirk’s the epitome of _sex_. The tears are starting to trickle down Pavel’s cheeks from the sheer overwhelming sensations. It hurts so much, it feels so good. Why the hell did he stay a virgin so long? But it was worth it. So he could give it up to his captain. He wouldn’t want anyone else. He wants to thrust his hips back into Kirk’s, but he has no control. Kirk runs it all, and Pavel’s a limp doll happy to be thrown wherever Kirk puts him. The air is thick with slapping sounds and sick, wet squelching, and Kirk’s panting and Pavel’s panting/moaning/screaming. Kirk’s fucking hard enough to burst through to his stomach. Maybe his cum will shoot right up to Pavel’s brain. He’s being fucked utterly, completely senseless. 

Pavel isn’t even touching himself. He doesn’t dare. But it doesn’t matter. It’s so overwhelming. His balls tighten suddenly, and his head’s pleading nonono, not yet, but he can’t stop it. His chin hits his chest and he shrieks the loudest yet, coming into the air. The thick streams arch and splatter his body, all the way up his chest, thrown around by the constant bouncing motion Kirk puts him through. His ass spasms wildly with the sensation, squeezing even tighter around Kirk’s cock, and Kirk hisses, “Fuck, you’re so fucking _tight_!” 

Then Kirk lunges down suddenly, before Pavel’s even really finished. Kirk slams over him, their bare, sweaty chests grinding together, hips still going, and Kirk’s tongue is suddenly in Pavel’s mouth. It’s a high Pavel’s head won’t go down from. Kirk stills suddenly, not slamming but rocking, buried deep inside and not letting go. His hands are all over Pavel, everywhere, leaving marks. He pulls back to rest his forehead against Pavel’s, and he _roars_ like a lion. Pavel can’t take it anymore. His arms dart around Kirk’s shoulders, touching and holding Kirk down. 

Kirk explodes inside him. Pavel can feel it, splattering his walls and claiming him. Filling him up impossibly further. Kirk rocks it out. All out. He comes for what feels like forever, crushing the air out of Pavel’s lungs in the process. It’s so worth it. 

Pavel doesn’t want it to end. He wants to grab Kirk’s ass and hold him in.

But that’s not how it works. 

Kirk stills atop him. Pavel’s head is slowly coming back down, oxygen still too thin to think, but the pleasure is dulling a bit, and the pain’s trickling back. Kirk waits a moment, then slips out, and Pavel whines desperately with the loss. 

Kirk chuckles and pats his ass, insisting, “Don’t worry, pet. I’ll fill you up when we get back to the ship.”

Pavel moans breathlessly, “Zh... zhank you... keptain...”

Kirk steps away. Pavel’s hands fall off his shoulders, and Pavel’s feet fall back to the floor. His muscles groan in protest, but he doesn’t have the energy to keep them anything but slack. His hole feels like it’s gaping, drizzling cum. 

Then Spock’s next to them. He hands Kirk his shirt, and Kirk pulls up Pavel’s leg, wiping his cock off on it and dropping it again. Pavel feels completely used, in an overwhelming, wonderful way. The realization that he’s being watched is seeping back in, so he closes his eyes. 

The quiet creak of a door opening rings, and there are footsteps. The alien says something Pavel’s ears can’t distinguish, and Kirk answers. 

Pavel feels like he’s going to pass out. 

He lies where he is, spent and sticky, waiting for instructions.

* * *

They’re beamed back. Pavel has difficulty standing straight. He’s fully clothed again—Spock dressed him—but he still reeks of sex and his hair’s a mess. He feels like a mess. He feels like everyone knows. He keeps his head down. 

The captain scoops him up by the waist. Walking is difficult. He’s incredibly sore. Kirk calls over his shoulder, “Mr. Spock, see that the weapons are loaded properly and have them checked out before we leave. Call me if there are any problems.”

Spock says, “Yes, Captain,” and disappears around a corner.

* * *

Pavel’s taken back to the captain’s quarters. That makes him blush from head to toe. Kirk sprawls out on a couch and pulls Pavel into his lap, and it hurts, but Pavel’s happy to oblige. He squirms for a minute, trying to get comfortable, and Kirk smirks indulgently at him and plays with his curls. 

“There will be some changes,” Kirk drawls. He sounds and looks just as satiated, but he’s handling it better. “You’ll still be my helmsmen, but you will no longer have private quarters. You’re my possession, and you’ll be returning here after your shift, stripping down and sitting in front of the bed, waiting for me to return to you. You will be allowed to shower, eat, drink, and relief yourself at your leisure. Otherwise you will do nothing but think of my cock and how much you desire it. Do you understand, Ensign?”

“Yes, keptain,” Pavel says instantly, feeling giddy and tired. 

Then Kirk kisses him, and he isn’t tired anymore.


End file.
